The Money Game Read online

  The Money Game

  a novel by

  Michael A. Smith

  THE MONEY GAME

  Copyright © 2014 Michael A. Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  eISBN: 978-0-9861735-2-3

  Published originally as Marginal People

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. No parts of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without prior permission from the author.

  Dedicated to my Dad and Mom,

  John and Jean

  EPIGRAPHS

  For the love of money is the root of all evil;

  and while some have coveted after it,

  they have erred from the faith

  and pierced themselves with sorrows.

  St. Paul, Disciple

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The disposition to admire and worship,

  the rich and the powerful,

  and to despise, or, at least, to neglect

  persons of poor and mean condition,

  is the great and most universal cause of

  the corruption of our moral sentiments.

  Adam Smith, Economist

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Everybody’s gotta have money.

  Need it to live and make dreams come true.

  Getting money is like any of life’s games.

  You need skill, daring, a plan, and luck.

  You may have to bend the law some.

  With money, everything in life is better.

  All colors blend into the green.

  You ain’t got money, you got jack shit.

  Skinny Walker, Gambler

  by Michael A. Smith

  NOVELS

  Legacy of the Lake, Avon

  Secrets, St. Martin’s Press

  Jeremiah Terrorist Prophet, Forge

  New America, Forge

  The Inheritors, Forge

  Lightning’s Child, CreateSpace

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  ESSAYS

  Naked America, CreateSpace

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  WEBSITES

  www.goodnovels.org

  www.futurechange.info

  Table of Contents

  1/The Cast Gathers

  2/Spin The Wheel

  3/End Of The Line

  4/Gotta Have Money

  5/A Dime A Dozen

  6/Have-Nots And Wannabes

  7/Selling An Insurance Policy

  8/Shirley’s Getting Married

  9/Marshon’s Many Gambits

  10/Ace Goes Home Again

  11/The Circles Of Life

  12/Passing The Torch

  13/An Island Dream/Scheme

  14/Stalking The Victim

  15/Dad, Me And Richey

  16/Crazy Is As Crazy Does

  17/Doing God’s Work

  18/A Contagion Of Disaster

  19/It’s Weird Out There

  20/Exploring All Options

  21/Buffers All The Way

  22/The Ordeal Begins

  23/Death And Desperation

  24/Turning The Tables

  25/Aim, Squeeze, Pray

  26/Performance Of A Lifetime

  27/Leaving Kansas City

  28/The Odds Of Being Lucky

  1/The Cast Gathers

  Shortly before midnight, Carmen Salazar sat at the bar in The Stadium talking with Kandie Givens, while her boyfriend, Richey Stanton, sat directly across the horseshoe-shaped bar, paying off those who had won the private lottery he ran at work. They occasionally glanced up at each other, smiled and nodded. The tavern was located in a strip mall about five miles from Biederman’s Food Products, a canning factory where Richey was the second-shift warehouse supervisor. Biederman’s employees filled the place from half past eleven until the bar’s two a.m. closing time.

  “I’ll never understand how Sam could kick us out of the trailer, and then not even come and see us off when we left town,” Kandie said, once again reciting without rancor the facts of her life’s most traumatic moment.

  “I don’t either,” Carmen replied, sincerely, even though Kandie had told her this story a dozen times, or more. Carmen listened attentively because she wanted to be a sympathetic and helpful friend, if possible. Clearly, what had happened to Kandie in the small Missouri town where she was born and raised left her traumatized, and propelled her into a self-imposed exile.

  “I mean, it was mostly about money and Sam not wanting to take responsibility for being the father of my three kids,” Kandie said.

  “Relationships are usually about money, commitment and responsibility,” Carmen said, and then shook her head wearily and apologized: “I don’t mean to sound like Ann Landers.”

  Kandie didn’t appear to understand the analogy. “The thing is, Sam and I’d been going together since I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school,” she continued. “I had Cindy when I was a senior, Lloyd the next year, and Melody by the time I was twenty-one. God, was he fucking the shit out of me, huh?”

  It wasn’t difficult for Carmen to imagine the difficulties Kandie faced being an unwed mother in an isolated, rural area where her dad played the role of town drunk.

  “After I moved into Sam’s trailer, I figured we’d get married. God knows I asked him about it enough times. He always said we would as soon as he saved up enough money. I never understood why we had to wait. I mean, we was already living together. How much does a marriage license cost?”

  “For some men, their entire soul, apparently.”

  “Exactly, Carmen. Exactly. ’Course, when Sam lost his job as a mechanic at the Chevy garage, everything began to fall apart. He started seeing Evelyn Slag on the side and then told me he’d fallen in love with her. Love, my ass. Evelyn’s old man owned a lumber mill and he put Sam on there as a manager. Christ, Evelyn’s old man was pimping for her!”

  “You tell Sam that?”

  “Sure did!”

  Carmen sipped her margarita. “What happened?” Carmen didn’t want to be cynical or manipulative by encouraging Kandie to go on, but this was the best part of the oft-told story.

  “I was standing in the yard outside the trailer this Spring with the two big kids clinging to my legs and me holding Melody. Sam was standing at the top of the steps near the front door, smoking a cigarette all cool like, when I said, ‘Why do you wanna kick your own kids outta their home, Sam?’

  “He says, ‘Evelyn’s moving in tomorrow. We can’t all live here.’ And, I said, ‘Sam, you know what she’s got I ain’t got? An old man who’s rich, that’s what. I’ll tell you something she ain’t got, Sam. Tits! She’s as flat chested as Melody.’ You shoulda been there, Carmen. Sam turned red and I thought he’d blow a gasket.”

  They laughed and both nodded affirmatively as John the bartender asked if they wanted another round. Kandie always talked loudly, so perhaps this was John’s way of trying to quiet her down. The regulars sitting around the bar snickered, looked at each other and shook their heads. They had heard the story before and knew how it ended. Kandie and her kids moved to the city and initially lived with her aunt. After Kandie got a waitressing job and saved a little money, her aunt and uncle helped her move into a two-bedroom unit in Carmen’s apartment complex. The two women became friends a few months ago when Kandie asked Carmen’s eleven-year-old daughter, Marisa, if she babysat. Marisa said she’d have to check with her mother.

  Perhaps Kandie told and retold her life-shaping story in the hope that the ending would somehow change. She’d wanted to stay with Sam in that mobile home and try to be a good wife and mother. Her high school teachers, her mother and the Baptist minister had urged her to be the best person she could be, and that’s how
Kandie defined the ideal lifestyle. She’d made Cs in high school. It wasn’t like she was going to be an astronaut or the first woman president. Her chief assets were good body features: silky, naturally curly auburn hair, long legs and ample breasts that she flaunted proudly. Most people would have considered her beautiful except for several subtle facial flaws, including small, beady eyes, and baby-sized teeth with too many gaps between them.

  Kandie thought her assets were sufficient to get any guy she wanted, and she chose Sam. He was handsome and the quarterback of their high school football team. She’d thought he would be a good provider. In return, she let him use her whenever he wanted, however he wanted. It had never occurred to her that in the end he’d choose a job over living with her. Life teaches hard lessons.

  “I don’t mean to always be crying on your shoulder about men,” Kandie said. “You got your own problems, huh, Carmen? Your husband left you with a kid, too. ’Course, you’re smarter than me and you got a college degree and a real good job. Look at you, the Latin beauty! Beautiful black hair. Your skin is, well, flawed.”

  “I hope you meant flawless?”

  Kandie laughed and grabbed Carmen’s arm. “I get a lot of words mixed up! Yeah, flawless. You got a great ass, too, Carmen. Can I say that?”

  “You did. Thanks.”

  “And, Richey is pretty loyal, right? I mean, you can trust him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Best of all, your mother lives close to you.” Kandie again put her hand on Carmen’s arm. “God, I’m glad she agreed to watch my kids tonight, along with Marisa. I don’t know how your mom does it, watching all four of them. You sure I don’t have to pay her, Carmen? Maybe I should, huh? Especially since she’s keeping them overnight!”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Carmen said. She planned to do something special for her mother, anyway, such as take her to dinner, or buy her a piece of the silver and turquoise jewelry she liked so much. Her mother would say no reward was necessary; that looking after a gaggle of kids revived memories of her own motherhood and rejuvenated her. Still, her mom deserved some reward for looking after four kids overnight in her own home, especially Lloyd, Kandie’s rambunctious four-year-old, who would be a handful for a professional jailer.

  As she got older, Carmen cherished her relationship with her mother. Her dad had died suddenly three years ago. Carmen missed him, like she’d missed him all her life. They’d never really had a relationship largely because he spent most of his life romancing a bottle –– like Kandie’s dad. Carmen took another sip from her second margarita of the evening, careful not to take in too much alcohol and cause a headache.

  Even though Kandie usually said whatever popped into her mind, she and Carmen actually were in the same boat. Single women with kids sitting in a sports/meat-market bar near midnight on a Wednesday. Carmen had attended a work-related dinner meeting that lasted until ten, and she didn’t have to go into work until noon tomorrow. Otherwise, she’d be home in bed. At least, Carmen knew who she’d go home with, although she had no idea where her relationship with Richey was headed.

  “It’s really boring in here tonight,” Kandie said. “None of the men look promising, if you know what I mean. I don’t see any prince on a white horse. It’ll be the shits if I wind up going back to my apartment alone, with nothing to do but make love to my vibrator.”

  In fact, they were the only two women sitting at the bar that dominated the main room of The Stadium. Earlier, there had been a few others. Most of the other patrons were twenty-something white guys eyeballing the half-dozen television sets mounted on the walls or behind the bar. No matter where they sat — at the bar or the tables that outlined the perimeter of the room — the drinkers could watch a sporting event taking place somewhere in the world, courtesy of satellite television. Last year’s Super Bowl game replayed on the largest TV screen.

  As a result, the conversation that permeated the bar took place on several levels. Sports announcers dominated one wavelength with their play-by-play commentary, while on another level the spectators added generalized comments, which often included some variation of the F-word. Fuckin-A! was a frequent exclamation for an awesome development, often followed by “fuck that!” when the tide turned. There were group conversations in which bar patrons tried to outshout each other. Another conversational level included commercial transactions between patron and bartenders. A few people like Carmen and Kandie talked directly to each other, on a lower frequency. Some talented customers had the ability to tune into all wavelengths.

  There was a sitting area and multi-purpose tiled floor at the back of the room. Patrons sometimes danced to music played by an old-fashioned jukebox. Saturday nights, there was a singer or singers. Tuesdays and Thursday nights, karaoke singers came out of the woodwork at ten p.m. to entertain and/or appall everyone.

  Two pool tables, three video game machines, and several four-person table and chair sets filled an adjoining room connected to the main room by a wide, arched doorway.

  The Stadium served food, mainly sandwiches, so according to state law, there was no smoking, but many patrons paid no attention to this statute. A smoky haze filled both rooms.

  The only reason Carmen was at the bar tonight or any night was because Richey hung out here, not only after work, but on the weekends, too. Carmen didn’t understand. It wasn’t her kind of low-key drinking establishment, which preferably would have been located in a trendy restaurant catering to a high-end clientele who sipped white wine and talked in well-modulated voices.

  “Maybe I should latch onto an older guy like Richey. Someone who’s already sowed his wild oats. I mean, how old is he, anyway, Carmen?”

  Carmen laughed. “He’s forty-three, divorced and has a twenty-two-year-old kid.”

  “God, no! His kid is about my age?”

  “I’m ten years older than you, Kandie. Nothing really changes just because you hit thirty. You’re still the same person and most everything works the way it always has. Even with forty-three-year-old guys.”

  “I’m sorry, Carmen. I didn’t mean to insult you or Richey.”

  “You didn’t.”

  About then, Richey joined them, having concluded his lottery payoffs for the evening.

  “We were talking about you, Richey,” Kandie said, teasingly. “Carmen says you’re just as good as any young guy.”

  “Kandie!” Carmen said, although not exactly surprised at this breach of confidence. It was part of Kandie’s nature.

  Richey took it all in good stride, however, and replied, “There’s an Irish proverb that says, ‘Twenty years a child, twenty years running wild, twenty years a mature man and, after that, praying.’ I guess you know where that puts me, Kandie.”

  Carmen clapped in delight and laughed, as Kandie looked blank and confused before asking, “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I’m in my prime, Kandie,” Richey said, motioning to John for another drink. Carmen worried about Richey’s drinking, although she had never confronted him about it — at least, not yet. Richey seemed to be always slightly high, but never sloppily drunk. Her concern stemmed from the fact that her father had died from the effects of alcoholism. The comparisons raised all kinds of confusing psychological questions about her relationship with Richey.

  “All right, you two, give forth with some numbers,” Richey said, animatedly. “Ten of ʼem. The hundred-thousand-dollar Keno game awaits our participation.”

  “The numbers we gave you the last time didn’t work out, Richey,” Kandie said.

  “Ah, hope, what would life be, stripped of thy encouraging smile,” Richey answered.

  “Who said that?” Carmen asked, enchanted as always with Richey’s grasp of literature. He indeed had a presence about him that was carefully cultivated despite his many occupational failures. He dieted incessantly to stay relatively thin except for the modest potbelly that Carmen found to be more amusing than offensive. His hair was carefully combed and always in place. He had an e
ngaging smile and a way with words that could be captivating. He was an aging, aspiring actor who took care of himself and still cultivated hope.

  “I think it’s a line from a play performed somewhere in my misty past,” Richey answered. He drained his vodka martini and reached for a pencil and Keno form. “Numbers, I repeat! Ten of ʼem.”

  “Okay, Richey, how ’bout my kids’ birthdays?” Kandie asked.

  “Perfect. I haven’t done birthdays for, ah, a day or two, and then, it wasn’t your kids. I’ve done Marisa’s before, but what the hell. Month and day, four kids, that’s eight. Need two more. How about each of your birthdays? That’ll make ten. Here, Carmen, mark ʼem down.”

  She did as he asked while Kandie rattled off her contribution. Richey handed the Keno form and a dollar bill to John, who ran it through the machine and shortly returned with their ticket. As the first game unfolded on the TV screen above the bar, they and the other hopeful barflies watched as a computer somewhere picked the twenty numbered balls that an animated baseball bat bunted into four equal rows. The appearance of each number generally elicited a chorus of either “Ah, fuck!, or Fuckin-A!

  Richey was more garrulous. “And we got the twelve right off the bat,” he said, as if announcing the start of a horse race. “We don’t have those two numbers. Yes, sir, there’s the twenty-three, but we gotta hurry. Only sixteen numbers left. No, no, and further disappointment. Nineteen, on the outside. Nein, nope, nix. Got the fifteen. No, no and no. And, finally, hope is once more dashed, which seems to be a major theme in my life.”

  “I told you, Richey,” Kandie said, clapping her hands with delight. “You really think anyone ever got all ten numbers and won a hundred thousand dollars?”

  “Hope also springs eternal, Kandie.” He kissed Carmen on the lips and said, “How else we gonna get out of tornado alley?”

  Carmen grabbed her purse from the bar and slid off the stool. “I know how we’re going to get out of here. By car, shortly after I return from the bathroom.”